


Mały Lis

by CracklPop



Series: Cosmetics King Peter Hale AU [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, M/M, Peter Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-10-27 22:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20767901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CracklPop/pseuds/CracklPop
Summary: Stiles and Peter, back in Beacon Hills for different Fourth of July family events, find the town is under threat from a mysterious force. Although both the Rouge Alpha and his Sassy Assistant have agreed to keep their workplace affair at Hale Cosmetics casual and temporary, they may be forced to admit there are stronger feelings between them when Stiles' life is threatened.





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles would do a lot for Scott. Stiles _had_ done a lot for Scott. And he was sure Scott would do a lot for him. They were good friends, as close as any werewolf and not-wolf could be. 

Still. Scott had appalling taste in music, and no amount of fondness on Stiles’ part was going to change that. But that didn’t mean he needed to be a dick about it.

Lydia apparently felt no such restrictions.

“I’m turning this garbage off,” she said, knocking Scott’s fingers away from the car’s infotainment display. 

“It’s not garbage!” Scott protested, wounded-puppy eyes in full effect. 

Stiles, alone in the backseat, slouched farther down and stared out the window at the other cars on the highway. Traffic wasn’t terrible yet, but the weekend right before July fourth was never a great time to be on the road. 

“It’s way too loud, there’s zero dynamic range, and if the singer—and I’m applying that word _very_ generously—uses the phrase _I feel_ one more time, I’m going to assume he’s a narcissist,” Lydia informed him. 

Stiles swallowed a spurt of laughter, both at Lydia’s accurate analysis of Scott’s current favorite band and also at the idea that she, of all people, was coming down on someone for self-obsession. 

“Stiles? Back me up here. This is a great band,” Scott pleaded, twisting around in his seat to shoot Stiles a hopeful look. 

“Um.” Stiles avoided Scott’s eyes. “My tastes run a little differently. I know this group is really popular, though, so…other people like it, too?” 

“See?” Scott turned back to Lydia, triumphant. “Stiles agrees with me.” 

“That isn’t even close to what Stiles said,” Lydia snorted. 

“This sounds like a conversation you two would be more comfortable having alone,” Stiles interjected, slipping his noise-cancelling headphones over his ears and queuing up a podcast on the history of DC Comics. “I’m going to zone out. Let me know when we hit Beacon Hills.” 

He closed his eyes and focused all his attention on learning about the comic book company’s mid-century financial woes until he started to drift off into a nap.

Stiles was enjoying a dream about an alternate universe where Lex Luthor was a scientific genius superhero fighting the forces of Kryptonian invasion when he was woken by something pinging against his forehead. He slowly blinked his eyes open to find the car stopped in front of Melissa McCall’s house. 

“Oh, shit, are we here already?” he mumbled, wiping his face and removing his headphones. Stiles felt something crumple under his fingers and found that someone—likely Scott—had tossed a scrunched-up straw wrapper at his face to wake him up. 

“Thanks for the ride, Lydia,” Scott was saying from the front seat, half out of the car already. His tone was polite but cool, and Stiles guessed that their disagreement over the music hadn’t gone Scott’s way. 

Stiles got out of the car to give Scott a hug, agreeing to get together the next day for gaming and junk food. He slid into the front seat when he got back into the car and Lydia pulled away before he could fasten his seat belt. 

“Fuck, Lydia,” said Stiles, raising his eyebrows at her driving. “Did Scott make you listen to light rock after you insulted his choice in road tunes?”

“I have good taste,” Lydia said, too evenly. “Even Scott admits that I have good taste. So if my good taste is universally acknowledged, why does he have to argue with me when I enlighten him—with excellent supporting points, I might add—as to why he needs to download different music?”

“So, there’s a lot to unpack in that sentence,” Stiles began, caught between hilarity and disbelief. “Uh, did you and Scott maybe move onto talking about something besides music? Because I know you’re not this worked up over Scott telling you he’s a die-hard Top 40 fan.” 

Lydia glared at the car in front of her and didn’t respond right away. 

“I think his relationship with Allison Argent is going to cause a schism in the pack,” she said eventually. “Did you know the Hales are all in Beacon Hills this weekend, too? But they didn’t invite anyone else. Laura claimed it was a family bonding thing, but I think it’s suspicious. What if Peter breaks off to form his own pack? Working at Hale Cosmetics is a key part of my long-term career plan, Stiles. I can’t choose between my job and my relationship. What if Peter doesn’t want Jackson to be part of the new pack? Honestly, he never really warmed to Jackson.” 

Stiles sat there for a few minutes, taken aback by the deluge of words. 

“I’m not entirely qualified to assess the weird Hale Pack dynamics, but I don’t think Peter has any plans to leave Laura’s pack. Definitely not over Allison Argent, at least.”

Lydia gave Stiles a sharp glance, green eyes scrutinizing every nuance of Stiles’ facial expression. 

“Why do you—” she began, before Stiles cut her off with a loud cry. 

“Lydia, look out!” 

The traffic had come to an abrupt stop, and Lydia was going too fast to do more than jerk the wheel to the side and jam her foot down on the brakes. Her car glanced off the truck stopped in front of them and careened off the road into a tree. Stiles felt his forehead make contact with the dashboard and then everything went dark. 

\- X -

“Stop sulking,” Laura ordered. 

“You’ve been spending too much time around your baby pack,” Peter snapped. “Men my age don’t _sulk_.” 

“No, they just pout and sigh dramatically when they don’t get their way,” Derek said with a small smile. 

Peter curled his lip at Derek, chest rumbling with a brief but low growl. 

“I know it means nothing to you two, but I am actually the head of a successful company,” Peter told them with icy dignity. “I was told this was important pack business, which is the only reason I agreed to leave the city. The new lipstick formulation is at a critical state right now, as I may have mentioned. Once or twice. I’m not going to be able to maintain my place at the head of shifter-friendly cosmetics if I have a product that offends heightened senses. In fact—”

“Peter. Stop.” Laura put her hand on her uncle’s shoulder and he felt a warmth through their pack bond as well as her palm. “This _is_ important pack business. We three are a family within the larger pack, and it’s important to pack stability for us to stay close. It’s been years since the Hales of the Hale Pack spent any time together without anyone else. I know you’re stressed and busy. But we need to reconnect, just the three of us. Your offices are closed for a few days. Let’s try to enjoy this break, okay?” 

Peter made himself let his breath out in a steady, measured stream. 

“Fine,” he said, reaching up to squeeze Laura’s hand once before walking into the house that had been in their family for generations. He called back over his shoulder, “I’ll eat grilled hamburgers and ears of corn and patriotic cake in honor of all the werewolves—and humans, I suppose—who fought for this country’s independence. And I’ll do it with you two. Happy?” 

“Thank you,” Laura replied, right behind him. 

Derek followed them in and closed the door behind him. The quiet _thunk_ was the only sound for several minutes, the three of them standing awkwardly in the front hall. 

“Well,” Peter said briskly. “I’m going to put this bag upstairs and then break into that wolfsbane beer Derek said he was going to ask the housekeeper to stock up on.” 

Peter gave Derek a meaningful stare and the other werewolf nodded. 

“Doris is very reliable,” Derek said. “I gave her a huge list and she’s never let me down before.”

Not only had the inestimable Doris procured the werewolf-strength alcohol, she’d filled the refrigerator, freezer, and pantry with enough food to last the Hales through several weekends. 

Half an hour later, they were all seated at the kitchen table with drinks and snacks. Peter was two beers into the afternoon and halfway through a bowl of pretzels, his mood significantly mellower. 

Laura picked the wrapper from a Neapolitan ice-cream sandwich, ending up with the strawberry end first. 

“I remember mom used to get these when we were kids,” she said with a satisfied hum. “Cora used to just eat the chocolate and strawberry ends and leave the vanilla.”

“I never understood that,” said Derek with a frown. “I love vanilla.”

“You would,” Peter said, crunching down on a pretzel. “I’ll bet you—”

“I don’t want to hear about your…tastes, Peter,” Laura interrupted. 

“I was insinuating that Derek is boring, not that he doesn’t appreciate the finer points of kinky sex,” Peter replied. “But, now that you bring it up, Derek does seem a bit repressed.”

“Ugh, stop talking, Peter,” Derek groaned. “Just drink more, will you? And don’t tell us about whatever random aspiring model you’re screwing this month. Please.” 

Laura sat up straighter at that, eyes trained on Peter’s face in speculation. 

“Wait a minute. I haven’t had to suffer through a painfully dull dinner with a fluff-head hottie in…more than a month,” she said. 

“That’s true,” Derek agreed slowly. “The last three charity events you came to, you flew solo. I haven’t had to pretend not to see you come back from the bathroom with your date covered in hickeys since the spring. What’s going on?” 

“I’ve been busy,” Peter responded. “I _do_ run a business, and I shouldn’t have to remind you of that. Where do you think the money comes from that you donate to all those good works, Derek? Who helps pay for your pack of semi-employed baby wolves to roam around San Francisco, Laura?”

“You’re being awfully defensive,” Laura pointed out. “Classic Peter deflection. Did one of those idiots dump you or something?” 

“Getting too old?” Derek suggested, a sly glint in his eyes. “They make medication, you know.” 

“I’m _busy_,” Peter stated with exaggerated enunciation. 

“Busy with whom?” Laura asked, finishing the last of her ice cream and waving chocolate-covered fingers in her uncle’s direction. “_That’s_ the real question.” 

Peter opened his mouth to tell her to mind her own business, but before he could think of a sufficiently sharp delivery, Laura’s phone rang with the sound reserved for _pack emergency_. She answered immediately, demeanor entirely stripped of levity. 

“Scott, slow down. Who’s in the hospital?” Laura wiped her fingers on a napkin with quick, efficient movements, then headed back into the hall to put her shoes on. Derek silently cleaned up the snacks while Peter left the kitchen so he could hear both sides of the conversation. 

“…some kind of concussion!” Scott’s voice was saying through the phone. 

“All right,” Laura soothed. “But he’s in care right now, and your mom is already there. I’m about to come get you and then we’ll visit them together, okay?”

“Okay.” Scott’s response was shaky but relieved. “Thanks, Alpha.” 

“It’s no problem. You hang in there and I’ll see you soon.” Laura ended the call and pushed the phone into her bag. “That was Scott McCall,” she told Peter and Derek. “Lydia and her stepbrother were in a car accident on their way back to their parents’ place and are at the hospital now being treated.”

“Stiles is hurt?” Peter demanded, realizing a second later his voice had been far too loud. He could feel Derek’s curious eyes boring into the back of his head. 

“Lydia’s got some bruising from the airbag, but it looks like the passenger-side safety measures didn’t work right, and her brother hit his head. Scott’s mother is a nurse at the hospital, and she told him the doctors say both kids will be okay.” Laura shook her head. “Poor Scott. He’s really upset.” She picked up her keys from the hall table and started toward the door. “I’ll keep you guys updated. Try to get some bonding in while I’m taking Scott to the hospital.” 

“Absolutely not,” Peter said, stepping forward quickly. “This is a pack matter. Of course Derek and I need to come with you. Surely we can bond over bad hospital coffee.” 

Laura stared at him for a minute, bafflement clear on her features. 

“Okay,” she said. “I guess it would be nice to have more people to support Scott.” 

“Great,” said Peter, herding both his niece and nephew outside and toward Laura’s car. “It’s all settled then. Let’s get going. Scott sounded quite distressed.”


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles woke to white walls and for a wild second thought he had passed out on Peter’s pretentious executive floor. Then he blinked and the walls resolved themselves into a hospital room. He attempted to sit up and winced at the corresponding stab of pain in his skull. 

Gingerly, Stiles turned his head on the thin pillow and tried to gather more information about his surroundings. An IV in his arm. His vitals on a screen to his side. A poster about proper hand-washing procedure over a sink in the corner. So far, he still couldn’t come to any further conclusions than _hospital room_. Unhelpful. There was a small window on the far wall that looked out onto the tops of deciduous trees, so it was unlikely he was in the desert. 

_What’s the last thing you remember?_ Stiles frowned, thinking. Scott. Something about Scott. And…_I Wanna Give U All My Luv_. Lydia hadn’t been a fan. Okay. 

Lydia…definitely something with Lydia…. 

Stiles’ efforts to sort his way through fragmented mental images were interrupted by the door opening to admit an older man in a white physician’s coat. 

“Ah, Mr. Stilinski,” the man said in greeting as he gave Stiles a smile. 

Stiles, unsettled by his inability to recall why he might be in a hospital bed with a terrific headache, eyed him warily, not liking something about that smile. 

“You were in a car accident and brought in with a mild concussion. Nothing to worry about.”

“Uh, good?” 

“Tell me, are you staying with your…parents? Home for a visit? Your driver’s license gives a local address, but the nurses I spoke with said you and your sister live in San Francisco.”

Stiles wished his head would stop throbbing so much; it was hard to concentrate on what the doctor was saying. Why was he asking about where Stiles lived? 

“Yeah, I-I have a job with…I’m staying with….” Stiles broke off, rubbing his temples and wincing. “What did you say your name was?”

“You can call me Dr. G.,” the man replied, voice brimming suddenly with paternal concern. “That nasty headache should be significantly improved by tomorrow. We can chat then, don’t worry. You’ll need my approval before checking out, so we won’t miss each other.”

“Um,” Stiles groaned faintly. 

“I’ll give you something nice to let you sleep,” Dr. G. murmured, reaching over Stiles to fiddle with the IV stand. “There, all set. You should get some rest now. We want you all healed up soon, don’t we.”

“Do we?” Stiles mumbled, vision wavering. He thought he saw Dr. G. smile at him again then leave the room, but his eyelids were so heavy, and he just wanted to close them. 

When Stiles came awake again, it was as the door opened to let a very different man in. 

“Pet’r?” Stiles squinted, unsure how much time had passed since he’d last been conscious. 

“You look like shit,” Peter declared, scowling at Stiles’ prone form. 

“…thanks?” Stiles closed his eyes against the dim hospital-room lighting. “Feel awful.” 

“Fragile, careless humans,” Peter was muttering as he fussed over Stiles’ blankets. 

Stiles tried to bat him away, but his movements were jerky and uncoordinated and he mostly succeeded in pawing at Peter’s forearms. 

Peter ignored him, leaning closer to stare at something on Stiles’ face. 

“Did you have this cut before the accident?” he asked. 

“Could you not hover, please?” Stiles asked plaintively. “My head really hurts.”

“It looks nearly healed.” Peter did not stop hovering. 

“Why are you here?” Stiles let his lips curve up in a pleased smirk. “Worried about me? Wanted to rush over to nurse me back to health?”

_That_ made Peter straighten up in a hurry. 

“Laura is Scott McCall’s alpha and your accident upset him. Derek and I happened to be nearby when he called Laura, so naturally we needed to aid Laura in supporting the pack.” 

“Oh, _naturally_,” Stiles said with wide eyes. “Couldn’t let the pack suffer without your particular brand of selfless compassion.” 

Peter crossed his arms and opened his mouth, presumably to deny that he cared whether or not Stiles was on his deathbed. 

“Stiles!” Scott yelped from the door, nearly pushing Peter aside in his haste to reach Stiles. 

“Hey, Scotty,” Stiles said, allowing Scott to grip his hand too hard and look intensely at his head like he was going to mend Stiles by positive thoughts alone. 

“How’d you get back here so quickly?” Stiles heard Derek ask Peter in the background. 

“You three looked like you had a handle on the front-desk staff, so I thought I’d make sure Scott’s friend was all right,” Peter answered coolly. 

Stiles couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation, since Scott’s questions were rising in volume and Laura swept in to calm her agitated beta. 

“…had been driving that old Jeep, you’d probably be dead!” Scott was saying. Stiles jerked his attention back to his friend. 

“Don’t you dare bring up that line of thought to my father,” Stiles ordered. “I’m reuniting with that Jeep as soon as I start grad school in the fall, and there’s nothing that’s going to stop me.”

“Let’s save that discussion for another time,” Laura soothed, ignoring Stiles’ suspicious glance. “Stiles, you’ll be happy to hear that Lydia is doing well. In fact, she’s been cleared to go home.”

“Glad she’s okay,” Stiles said as a familiar head of dark, curly hair appeared over Laura’s shoulder. 

“Hi, Stiles,” Melissa McCall said, smiling warmly at him. “You’re back with us, I see.”

“Yeah,” Stiles smiled back at her. 

“Huh.” She crossed to his IV stand and frowned. “I wonder….”

“Something wrong?” Peter’s voice was level—bored, even, but Stiles thought he detected a hint of sharpness underneath. 

“Just…surprising,” Melissa responded absently, glancing over Stiles’ chart. “Well, I came by to tell you that you’ll be discharged in a couple of hours. The concussion was the main thing. In fact, it looks like you aren’t as beat up as I’d thought when you were brought in. I guess it looked worse than it was. You’ll need to rest, and you shouldn’t drive. Try to keep your stress levels down—and please do not drink alcohol. Someone should stay with you for the next couple of days to make sure you don’t need to come back here.”

“Mrs. Martin-Stilinski is already in the lobby, and she said she’ll be home all weekend. The sheriff said he’d be home for a few days once his shift is over,” Scott interjected, and his mother nodded approvingly. 

“Good. They’ll have checkout papers for you at the front desk when you leave. Read through them and make sure your parents look them over, too,” Melissa said. “I’m sure Natalie will be by again as soon as she helps Lydia check out.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, something nagging at him, something he was forgetting. “Oh—but that doctor I saw earlier. He said I couldn’t check out until I’d seen him again. Maybe tomorrow?”

“What doctor?” Melissa asked, looking down at his chart again. 

“Doctor…V.?” Stiles guessed. It was all kind of fuzzy. “No, another letter. Sorry, I can’t remember.” 

“Hm,” Melissa eventually shrugged and put the chart back. “Well, there aren’t any notes on here, and your file says you’re good to leave. We usually don’t keep mild concussion cases overnight. As long as someone’s with you to monitor your progress, you should be fine.”

“And if you want to leave immediately, I’m sure we can arrange it,” Peter spoke up with that same unaffected drawl, but this time Stiles was certain he heard a more serious note. “Derek didn’t raise the money for a brand-new women’s health center at this hospital for nothing.”

“No, I didn’t,” Derek said drily. “I helped raise the money so that there would be a brand-new women’s health center at this hospital.” 

“The point is, it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep the Hale family happy,” Peter finished. 

“I’ll send someone for you when everything’s ready for discharge,” Melissa told Stiles, ignoring Peter entirely. Stiles nodded his thanks and lay back, massaging his still-aching head. 

Laura made a sympathetic noise, moving closer to Stiles’ bed as Melissa left and placing gentle fingers on Stiles’ arm. The veins running up her forearm shaded a very pale grey for a second before Stiles jerked away from her touch with a quick laugh. 

“Ah, sorry, ticklish,” he explained, pulling the blankets higher on his body. “That’s…really nice of you to do, but I’m not in that much pain, thanks.”

Laura’s hand hovered over Stiles' blanket-covered arm and she frowned down at it. 

“Okay,” she replied slowly. 

“So,” Stiles said brightly. “What’s on the agenda for the Hale family holiday weekend? Fireworks and freshly slaughtered deer?” 

“It sounds like Lydia and her mother are on their way,” said Derek, apparently choosing to pretend Stiles hadn’t spoken at all. 

“We’ll take Scott back home,” Laura told Stiles. “You just focus on healing up, okay?”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, dredging up another smile. 

“Let me know if you feel up for visitors later,” Derek put in. “We can watch one of those movies you like.”

“The kind with a plot?” Stiles teased, but he nodded at Derek with real affection. 

Stiles darted his eyes over once to see that Peter wasn’t looking back at him. He felt himself sag a little as the werewolf departed silently with his niece and nephew. Of course Peter didn’t say anything about stopping by later. Their relationship, such as it was, consisted of ninety percent sex and ten percent snark. Head wounds and convalescence didn’t enter into the picture. 

Scott hung back for a minute to give Stiles a quick hug and a promise to see him as soon as he could. Then all the Hale Pack members were gone and Stiles could hear the sound of Natalie Martin-Stilinski’s expensive pumps click-clicking against the hospital’s linoleum floors, Lydia’s accompanying strides slightly shorter than her mother’s. 

“Sorry about the concussion,” Lydia greeted him. 

“What’s a little blunt force trauma between family?” Stiles shrugged. 

“Your father and I will be home all weekend to take care of you,” Natalie said, handing Stiles a bag of fresh clothing. “Have you considered delaying your return to San Francisco? Noah and I would be happy to drive you back over once you’re fully recovered.” 

“Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine to go back when Lydia is,” Stiles replied, pushing back the blankets to make his careful way to the bathroom. 

He was changing out of the hospital gown when he caught a few murmured words of Lydia and Natalie’s conversation that made him pause and focus on what they were saying. 

“…office is full of SEA agents, we’re lucky he can get away for even two days. He might have to go back to work early. I might need your help taking care of Stiles, Lydia, so please stay close to the house while you’re here.” Natalie’s voice was quiet, but Stiles did, after all, have exceptionally sharp hearing. 

“I will, Mom.” Lydia only sounded a little put-upon, which was practically enthusiastic agreement from her. “Where did they find the last body?”

“Close enough to the preserve that Noah doesn’t want you spending time at the Hale house on this trip,” Natalie replied. 

_Hmmmmm_, Stiles thought as he zipped up his jeans and straightened his shirt. A glance in the mirror showed him about what he expected to see: a pale, skinny guy with bruising on his face and a head of dark brown hair that defied the law of gravitation. 

Natalie didn’t seem inclined to spill any more details about corpses or Supernatural Enforcement Agency staff intruding on Sheriff Stilinski’s time off, so Stiles exited the bathroom with a brave expression, one that suggested he was heroically enduring pain and needed to lie down undisturbed for some time to recover. 

And once Stiles got some alone time with a computer, he’d start digging into the interesting situation his father hadn’t bothered to mention during their last phone conversation. 

If Stiles’ dad thought he was going to hide a mystery involving a swarm of SEA agents, multiple bodies, and unidentified dangers in the Beacon Hills preserve, he’d been away from his son for too long.

**Author's Note:**

> "Peter Has Feelings" is a real, established tag on AO3. It cracks me up that there are multiple fandoms with characters named "Peter" who have emotional issues.


End file.
